Just a Scratch
by CeCe Away
Summary: His chest pinched with worry. There weren't many things that could keep Dean from being already here. What had happened? How did he come to be injured in this small section of the tunnels with an injured dog and…
1. Chapter 1

**Set in Season One. Usual Disclaimers apply. Just a whump and hurt gen hunt gone wrong fic cuz I like what I like. **

**Just A Scratch **

He slammed out of unconsciousness like a man thrown off a building, crushing every bone.

Not every bone…just his leg…the pain concentrated there, radiating outward to clench up every muscle, every tendon in his body.

"Gah," he exhaled through gritted teeth, fisting his hands in…he didn't know what. Garbage? Dry leaves? Didn't matter. He just needed the pain to stop.

It was dark, the air moist, humid, hot…burning hot and smelly. He was wet, his layers of shirts soaked through, sticking uncomfortably to his hot skin. Perspiration dotted his face. He felt tiny droplets slide down along his hairline.

A whimper echoed close, skimming across cement walls.

"De…," his plea sounded like a whimper of his own. He let his head flop to the side toward where the noise came.

A pair of swollen eyes stared at him from about two yards away. He could make out a huddled shape of fur in the low light streaming in from a grate high in the curving wall.

A dog. It whimpered again and sniffed gingerly at the wet dirt, or blood, possible both on its misshapen hind leg.

"It broken, fella?" Sam's voice crinkled rice paper thin. "I know the feeling."

The mutt put its head down on its front paws and whined low in its throat.

Rot and sickness floated upon the cloying wet air like a sheen of oil skimming swamp water, misting the surroundings. A dark curved tunnel or sewer. They were in a sewage system in Louisiana, hunting…he squeezed his eyes into a squint. What were they hunting?

His gaze swept the dark tunnel, searching for clues his memory wasn't giving up.

He was in a short tunnel, below another one if the drops of water and light coming from the grate indicated. Each end of the tunnel opened to a T-section in the sewers, neither he could see beyond the openings or where they led in either direction.

He felt exposed and vulnerable, lying helpless against the wall on a nest of garbage.

Anything could come through either of those entrances at any time—whatever it is they're hunting—he prayed the first thing through was his brother.

His chest pinched with worry. There weren't many things that could keep Dean from being already here. What had happened? How did he come to be injured in this small section of the tunnels with an injured dog and…he scanned about. There were more shapes pushed up against the walls, small and unmoving. A dead bird, its black wing fanned out stiffly. There were several skeletons of birds and rodents mostly. A decomposing cat. It looked like someone—or something—had dragged injured or dying animals in here.

He jerked, seeing a baby gator.

Pain ripped through his leg at the slight movement and a sudden flush of agonized tears blurred his vision. His breathing carved through the ache, sawing respirations with jagged tearing teeth.

He awakened to the sensation of something watching him. He didn't remember passing out.

A large dark shape crouched near, leaning over him, blotting out most of the light coming in from the grate. A thick musk clung to the beast like a moist pelt.

Sam shrank back in his nest of garbage and the familiar sharp pain shot brutally through his leg. A giant paw-like hand reached toward him.

Sam whimpered when the beast touched him, pushing its large hand beneath the back of his head. Unable to defend himself, Sam's face was lifted toward the creature, and…

A battered tin pan pressed to his lips, the side sweating with water.

Sam firmed his lips tight. No telling where the thing got that water from and tried to turn away, but the beast held him firm and continued to tip the pan.

As the creature drew closer, luminous gray eyes came into view, round as tiny moons, the black pupils slitted like a cat's. Female. He had the vague feeling that she was female.

The palm beneath his head gave a tug on his hair, forcing Sam's neck to arch. He gasped and the water drained into his mouth.

Swallow or choke. He swallowed.

At least the water was sweet, felt clean, not thick with mud or algae, but the danger of parasites crossed his mind even as he gulped the water down like a weak baby bird.

He actually stretched up for more, water on his dry lips and filling his belly a physical relief.

With his internal heat and the fever sweat drenching his skin, infection and dehydration would get him long before any swamp parasite took him out. At least the water was clearing his head of fuzz. If he could think, he could figure this out, maybe remember what happened to Dean…

The creature's moon eyes blinked and Sam felt her lower his head gently back down. She had given him water and by the look of the menagerie of wounded and dead animals along the walls, Sam placed all his hope in an assumption that the beast didn't want to harm him. She had probably carried him here after he was injured.

The hulking creature shifted back and stood. Blinking, Sam looked way, way up. She was huge. Wide shoulders, tufted in fur, hunched. Her head tucked in to avoid scraping the rounded ceiling.

Sam swallowed, his throat once again dry, and watched the thing lumber to the other side of the tunnel where the dog rested, and got his first clear look as the muted light spilled over the beast. She was broad, covered in fur that looked like it was shedding in spots, shiny and soft underneath like a grizzly's that loses its thickest coat after a long winter.

Tanahog. Though they were less hogs, more a cousin to the sasquatch or yeti, but preferring the rich hunting grounds of marshes and swamplands, and twice as vicious.

If a tanahog had captured him, he shouldn't be alive, but rather torn to shreds, and the rich marrow sucked from his bones.

Yet the creature across him, though large and strong enough to break his spine with one snap, sat placidly stroking an ill dog's side with gentle care. She watched him with those big moon eyes. She, because he could see her clearly now. Definitely a female.

It didn't add up with the Intel they'd gathered. He was remembering.

Gunthor, Louisiana, a small one-motel town on the edge of a thick bayou. Several people had gone missing, only one body recovered, sliced and diced with bite marks that didn't fit a gator.

He and Dean had tracked the evidence to a pack of tanahogs that had left the swamplands to take up residence in the sewage systems, preying on the easy pickings of townspeople and any unfortunate pets that had gotten loose.

They were systematically searching the interconnecting sewage tunnels when…

He couldn't remember what happened, how he got injured, or what became of his brother.

If Dean was okay, he'd be coming for him.

He needed a way to let him know where he was. Sam squeezed his eyes closed in irritation. Stupid. His brain really wasn't firing on all cylinders.

Shakily, he moved his arm to get at his phone in his front jeans pocket. Such a small movement shouldn't be taking this much energy out of him. Closing his fingers around it, he drew it out. The simple act of lifting it above his face so he could see the screen just about did him in. He couldn't recall ever being so weak and shaky that it took everything in him just to look at a damn cell phone and all for nothing. The phone was dead, not just low signal dead, but out of juice dead.

He'd had a full charge before they entered the sewers. How long had he been down here for his battery to die?

He let his arm fall to his chest, let the phone slip form his fingers and slide down his side into the bedding of garbage.

He blacked out again. He must have because something was different.

It was hot, scorching furnace hot. His skin was dry like thin parchment and itchy from old dried sweat. No longer perspiring, but dehydrated with fever.

If he didn't do something, he was going to die down here. His leg was swollen tight in the leg of his jeans.

He lifted his head, barely raising it up a few inches to see and move d his hand toward the bloody slit in the denim on his thigh. His hand shook.

Suddenly the creature was beside him, large sure hands pulling him up to lean his shoulder and head against the curve of the wall. It hurt, any jostle to his thrumming leg brought barbs of lightning agony jolting through his body.

Breathing hard through his nose, he set his teeth against it, hoping the tunnel and creature would soon stop revolting around him.

"Th-thank you," he rasped, his voice as wavery as his stomach. She was his own Florence Nightengale.

Somehow sensing what he wanted to see, the tanahog snagged the tip of her claw inside the torn denim slit and ripped the material further. Sam cried out as dried blood and pus tore away from his skin. A black haze ground against the edges of his vision.

Lungs heaving, his entire focus bottomed out to the sharpness of the pain. Everything else dulled until the beast suddenly latched onto his shoulders and dragged him back down to lie flat and began throwing the garbage over him.

He didn't understand what was going on. What had he done to incite her strange behavior? All he could do was lie there and breathe through the agony concentrated in his leg. Was she done with him and burying him alive beneath layers of filth? Beneath the pain and the raging fever, he couldn't reason it out—until a different noise shuffled into their tunnel.

His tanahog whirled around to face a much larger one, lumbering into their space.

Hiding him. She'd thrown refuse on him to hide him.

The new tanahog roared, the thick guttural racket reverberated across the walls, loud and angry.

Trying to quiet his panicky breaths, Sam peered between moist newspaper and clumping leaves. The creature was huge, a head taller than the female. It's furious round eyes glowed orange like the insides of jack-o-lanterns.

The female crouched in submission at the larger beat's feet, which seemed to pacify his anger a bit. At least he stopped the eardrum-shattering bellows.

Except the abrupt cut off exposed the dog's whimpers. The orange eyes locked onto the poor pup, and shoving the crouching female out of its way, the tanahog grabbed up the injured dog and snapped its neck.

The female wailed and lunged up to take the limp dead dog back, but the beast held it aloft like a school yard bully.

The female made a grab for it again and the creature shoved her hard enough to throw her across the tunnel next to Sam, where it leaned down to get into her face and growled, lips curled back over stiletto sharp incisors. He was so close, Sam felt the heated wash of fetid decaying ripe breath.

Moon eyes glazed in fear, the female curled over in a demonstration of submission, trembling and whimpering.

Satisfied with his dominance, the male swung the dog up and took a huge bit out of its side, watching the other creature for defiance, which never came. Still chomping, the tanahog grunted and shuffled out of the small access tunnel.

Florence curled over her knees, large head dropping to the floor as her wide shoulders shook with sobs.

Sam eased up, though the slight movement streamed agony through him. Leaves and bits of soggy paper slid off as he reached out and placed his palm on the tanahog's elbow. "I am so sorry."

Her head lifted, sad gray eyes turned toward him. She stared for a long moment before lowering her cheek near Sam's side and let him stroke the top of her head.

He next awoke to a pungent odor. Not that there wasn't already enough nasty smells, but this was new, sharper, overpowering the rest like burned or boiling broccoli.

He fought to flutter his eyes open and then fought even harder to get them to focus. He didn't remember falling asleep again. His life had become disjointed moments of waking, hurt and alone.

Not alone.

Florence was here, slapping and smoothing some sort of brown leafy mud over his swollen leg. His entire thigh was encased in it.

"Flor…wha…?" His voice was transparent, a ghost of sound.

Seeing him awake, Florence pulled his shoulders up and began shoving some of the stinky mud into his mouth.

He didn't have the strength to fight her. He was completely limp, unable to raise his arms or lift his head. It flopped back against her thick forearm.

He swallowed the mud, choking on the taste and was relieved when she gave him water next. He didn't know when he'd eaten last, but he wasn't hungry, was just too weak and nauseous. Probably wouldn't be able to keep this crap down anyway.

He wasn't going to last much longer.

He moved his hand across the litter pile to bump the creature's large furred knee as she hovered over him. Seemed like since she lost the dog, he had now become her fixation.

"I need…outside. C-can you take me? My brother…"

The wide lips creased downward. The protruding line of her brow wrinkled and she gurgled a low kind of cooing.

Sam tried again. He had to make her understand he'd die if he stayed down here any longer. He was so weak, felt his life draining out with the hot moisture beading on his skin. Next time he closed his eyes, he feared there'd be no more waking moments.

"Florence, please. Please." His head fell back with the last of his strength and his eyes closed. She wasn't going to help him. She didn't understand… and he still didn't know if Dean was safe….

Then he felt himself lifted, large arms curling beneath his legs and shoulders and his world swayed back and forth by the tanahog's slow slumberous gait.

Dean's knees threatened to buckle. After three days of searching the old twisting hedged-together sewage system, he'd found it, the place the tanahog's discarded their refuse. It was disgusting, much like the area beneath the nest of an eagle where cleaned bones, fur, and feathers of their prey were haphazardly discarded.

Except now that he found it, Dean couldn't go in. His gaze landed on the muddy torn remnants of a lady's pink sweater. He couldn't…if he found Sam's boot, or shirt…or anything…

Sweat pooled at the vee of his throat. He couldn't. He just couldn't find anything here of Sam.

But he had to be sure.

Bracing himself for the gruesome job at hand, Dean stepped into the dead-end tunnel and began sifting through the inedible remnants of lives lost.

Three days. Three days he'd been systematically marking the tunnels and searching for the kid. He wasn't sure how they got separated in the first place. One second Sam was right behind him, chasing after the damn tanahog and then there was a second roar in an adjacent tunnel and Sam…Dean shouted for them to stay together but by the time he looked back his brother wasn't there. Whether he was taken, or didn't hear him over the racket the tanahogs made and went after the other, he just didn't know.

Sam was simply gone.

But Dean would find him. He lifted a sleeve torn from a striped shirt and his breath stilled in his chest. Not Sam's. Sweat dribbled down the side of his neck while he stared, trying to force the flow of air to move in his lungs again. Not Sam's.

He moved on toward the back of the tunnel, his search through the rubble picking up speed as relief buoyed him, finding nothing of Sam's here.

"That's good, kid, that's good." If he wasn't here, he was still alive. "But where the hell are you?" His growl bounced along the concrete walls.

He'd searched almost the entire system. He'd only gone to the surface once to check back at the motel in case Sam had made it out another way. He'd allowed himself two hours of sleep, filled a smaller duffel with weapons, energy bars, a few basic first aid supplies and water, lots of water, and a spray can of paint for marking and had been searching ever since.

He left the disgusting room, mentally noting how to get back to it for clean-up later, and picked up his search, moving into the lower older sections of the drainage tunnels. Within ten minutes he rounded a bend and came face to face with one of the beasts. They both froze where they were, staring at each other. Dean's heart thudded to a stop because the creature had Sam.

In the monster's massive arms, Sam looked like a sleeping child, his head resting on the furred shoulder, dark hair spilling forward covering his face. His arms hung loose, as did one leg. The other leg was straight and unbending, swollen tight inside the leg of his torn and filthy jeans.

Dean could smell the sickly sweet odor of infection from where he stood.

"Put him down." Dean trained his Glock on the beast. He wouldn't risk the shot if he had to, but the tanahog was so massive he could easily wing a shoulder or leg. He just didn't want to startle the thing with a shot that might make her snap Sam's spine in a knee-jerk reaction. "Hey, I told you to put him down."

The way the tanahog's arm curled around Sam and covered his chest, he couldn't tell if the kid was breathing. He shoved that direction of thought down. Of course he was breathing.

"Now!" Dean barked again and this time the creature growled, squeezing Sam closer into her body.

Then her eyes flicked up just as Dean felt a stirring in the humid air behind him.

Jerking around, he found one of the large males coming up the tunnel.

"Whoa!" Gun up, he backed up toward the female and Sam. She was hissing, about as pleased to see the beast as Dean was.

Head lowered, the male gurgled out a string of growls that could only be demands, orange eyes intent…crap… intent on Sam. When Dean was standing right here in its path as easy pickings.

The female edged back a step, whining, and a terrible chill swept across Dean's neck. The male howled.

This wasn't about an easy meal. This was about dominance. The male wanted the female to give up her prize.

Not. Happening.

Another growl echoed behind them. Dean shifted sideways just enough to glance behind the female's shoulder and still keep the male in front of them in his sights. A second male was coming up from the other end of the tunnel.

Really? He hadn't seen a tanahog for days and now all of a sudden they were gathering for a party.

The smell. The infection in Sam's leg must have drawn them.

The female edged back against the curve of the wet wall, trying to make herself appear smaller, whining in distress.

When the male reached around to pluck Sam out of her grasp, Dean shot it point blank in the head, which usually got some kind of reaction...like dead. The bullet bouncing off the thick forehead and ricocheting into the wall wasn't it.

Holy crap.

He couldn't stop to take that in as he whipped his gun the other way and shot the first creature lunging at him, this time aiming for the hopefully less impenetrable leg. Lame, then maim, if you couldn't outright kill.

Meanwhile the female set Sam on the wet floor and was rocking, sobbing while the other beast roared over her rounded back. Not good. Dean feared he'd lost his only ally and the only thing between Sam and the other creature.

The other beast stumbled but didn't go down and Dean kept firing, emptying his entire clip into the same leg, whittling it down like wood, until finally the creature got the message and lurched back, growling its displeasure as it limped off into the dark, having a new wariness of Dean's weapon.

"That's right, bitch, stay the hell back until I figure out how to gank you!"

Pulling out a second clip, Dean shoved it home, swerving back toward the other beasts.

The female was on her knees, sniveling, but the male…

"Nooooo!" Dean shot the male pulling Sam up off the ground. Dean's bullet hit the creature in the meaty part of the shoulder and the beast flinched back, roaring and dropping Sam, then grabbed for Sam again, catching his brother's ankle in its claw—and that's when the female roared to life.

Submissiveness gone, she barreled into the larger beast, throwing it back a few paces. Stunned, it took a second hit until the shock wore off and the two creatures really got started.

Which left Sam finally in the clear and Dean wasn't losing that opportunity. Gun in hand, he dashed to him, worry and adrenaline tangled like acid in the back of his throat.

"Sam!" The relief of finally having hands on his brother after days of fearing the worse threatened to drag Dean's legs out from under him. He pushed that down, knowing he only had seconds to get the kid clear of here.

Sam lay on his side, the pool of water beneath his cheek doing nothing to revive him. Heat radiated off Sam's dry skin. Sweat-dried curls lay dark on his pale face. Dark lashes fanned over equally black smudges beneath his eyes.

But he was breathing. Kid was still breathing.

"Sam." Dean shook him. With that leg he'd have to carry him anyway, but he wanted—needed—Sam to wake up. "Come on." He slid the duffel off his shoulder and started pulling Sam up to haul him over his shoulders, glancing quickly at the snarling commotion behind. Beasts were still full on going at it, blood matting both. The female had oozing wet slices across her chin, but she wasn't backing down, had in fact, gotten herself between them and the male who was slowly losing steam.

A hot dry palm slipped onto Dean's wrist, wrenching his attention back to Sam.

Kid's eyes were open, looking at him in distress and disorientation. Thank God. The icy fear Dean had carried through the tunnels with him started to thaw. He held Sam's chin. "Don't try to talk. I have you now."

Once more he leaned in to pull Sam over his shoulder, startled when the female reached over them both and plucked Sam up off the ground and took off down the tunnel she'd first emerged from.

Sonuabitch.

Dean had no idea where the other creature had gone, obviously run off by the female. He ran after the beast, pulling his Glock on her bulking retreating back.

"Stop!"

The creature plowed on, Sam swallowed up in front of her. The only thing he could see of his brother was his straight swollen leg bouncing with the tanahog's stride.

"Stop! I will shoot you." He would, hoping the beast wouldn't fall forward onto Sam.

Suddenly she stopped. Dean stopped, the echo of his footsteps fading and he heard Sam's raspy weak voice pleading with the creature.

Sam had somehow gotten her to stop. The creature swung around to face him, features sorrowful.

Dean shoved the gun into his waistband and held his hands up. "Please don't take him. He needs help. If you hide him away again he'll die."

Weak and shaky, Sam's fingers splayed over the creature's heart, his soft eyes pleading. "My brother…please let…me go."

Looking down into Sam's face, the tanahog whined.

"Please." Dean could barely hear the soft hush of Sam's plea, while his heart ran a mile a minute, praying the kid's patented eyes would work on the creature.

Rumbling low in her throat, she started walking back toward Dean, clearly saddened.

Holding his breath, Dean let her pass him and followed closely behind. She took him into another tunnel system he hadn't yet scouted and turned into a dead end where another tunnel, more of a drainage pipeline, about four feet in diameter was set in the wall six feet up.

Daylight filtered through the slope from an opening Dean couldn't see. The beast walked steadily to it.

"That the way out?" Dean asked. He would never be able to lift Sam up into that on his own.

A roar had both the beast and Dean spinning back toward the tunnels. The two males were back, a united front, fury shaking through their bulky masses.

The female screamed at them, turned and shoved Sam up into the pipe before rushing headlong into the other creatures.

Dean stared, momentarily stunned before he pulled out his gun and shot at the males, winging their arms to either side of the female. He didn't want to get too close to the female who had gone berserk, whopping on both males.

He wasn't sure she could be brought back from that rage and decided the better part of valor was getting his kid out of there while her fury was giving him that chance.

Taking a running leap, he caught hold of the pipe's edge and pulled himself in. He crawled up and over Sam, careful of his leg in the confined space until he was on the other side of the kid's shoulders and began pulling Sam farther into the pipeline while he edged backwards.

Sam screamed in agony, stiff leg scraping along the concrete. Dean hated doing it to him, but the pipe wasn't big enough for him to reach down and support Sam's leg. He had to get him out of this hole as quickly as possible and then get the kid help.

Pulling Sam beneath his armpits, Dean edged them both along backwards into the shaft of graying light. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a grate a few yards ahead. A wet sticky breeze washed into his back.

Snarls and growls echoed around the cement, chasing after them.

Weakly, Sam tried to turn back. "Have…have to…help her. Saved me."

Dean didn't see it that way. If the beast hadn't hidden Sam away, he would never have gotten so sick. The infection had taken dangerous root.

"She's holding her own, Sam. Can't worry about her right now."

"Bu—"

"No buts." Dean hauled Sam back again, not that his brother had any strength to resist him. Every muscle went rigid along Sam's sides. Sam's head rocked back, digging hard into his sternum while the kid gasped breathlessly in pain.

Howls exploded across the cement. The male rammed its huge body against the sides of the pipe, reaching into it to get at them.

Dean scrambled backwards, dragging Sam's long legs farther out of reach and felt for his Glock, though the female leaped onto the monster from behind, pulling it back in a jumble of shrieks and roars.

Sam's pulse banged like a freight engine beneath Dean's arm. His back thumped into the rusty grate. Dean twisted, slamming the flat of his hand against it. It didn't budge, locked or screwed shut.

Beyond it he glimpsed wet dirt, ground sloping up on either side. The pipe spilled out into some type of banked ditch.

He slammed the heel of his hand against the grate again, the left side gave a bit rattling looser, or more rusted there.

"We're close now, Sammy."

He placed the nozzle of his gun right on the weakest bar and curled over Sam's head in case the bullet bounced back, and fired.

Sam flinched at the close gunshot on metal and not wasting any time, Dean shoved it open with his fist and squirmed backwards, dragging them out of there until they lay in water-logged sand, looking up into a canopy of lean cypress trees. The noise from the battle within the sewage tunnels cut off, sound-proofed by the whistling hum of cicadas and rustling of wind through the trees.

They were in a ditch. The back of Sam's head and shoulders rested on Dean's stomach, the heat radiating off him hotter than a furnace.

He'd gotten Sam out of the sewers, but not out of danger.

His cell phone battery had died a day ago so getting help was going to be tricky. With a gentleness reserved only for Sam, he rolled him off him to the side, resting his palm over Sam's shoulder. "I'm not going far, just a few steps to see where we're at." He told him, surprised when Sam murmured. He hadn't expected any kind of response. Relief spilled into his chest, loosening the tightness there. "Hang on."

The sight that greeted him at the top of the rise nearly dropped him to his knees.

A jogging path.

He knew this place, had scouted it out before entering the tunnels on the other side of town. It was a little city park on the edge of the bayou. He stepped onto the jogging path, nearly colliding with a woman in a cropped sports top and shorts, running to music blaring from her ear buds.

She jumped back with a screech. A couple guys playing Frisbee in the middle of the lawn area jerked around.

Dean held up his hands. "Help, I need help. My brother…" he stepped back to be non-threatening and glanced back down over the edge. "He's hurt."

Wary, the jogger sidestepped to look over the edge, eyes widening. "Oh my—"

The Frisbee players were making their way over.

"Do you have a phone?"

"Yeah, yes, of course." The woman started reaching into her sports top. Normally, Dean would have stopped to consider that, but right now it wasn't even a passing thought. "Call an ambulance and stay up top to show them where we are."

He didn't wait for a reply, scrambling back down the slope, quickly divesting himself of gun and blades which he stashed beneath a rock and got back to Sam.

Sam hadn't moved, was still baking, still drifting in only slight fluttering whiffs of breath, but Dean had him now and help was coming. Help was coming and Dean had Sam now.

* * *

FIN

Just kidding. I thought this would be a good place to stop, but Dean's giving me a glaring skunk-eye that I'd leave his kid like this, so, give me a few days to save Sam's leg, or not. We'll see.

TBC


	2. Final

EMTs arrived within five minutes, being such a small town and had taken only another five to rush Sam to the small one emergency room medical center. The cover story had been simple, but Dean found sometimes the lamest stories raised the less eyebrows. They'd been in the bayou fishing, gotten off the beaten path and lost their way. That would keep any concerned law officials out of the old sewage tunnels until the tanahogs could be dealt with.

Dr. Willet frowned at the still-reeking dried brown muck covering Sam's wounded leg, one black brow arching when Dean said they'd crawled through a mud pit, but the young doctor didn't call him on it, more intent on getting Sam's blood pressure evened out and fever reduced.

Being such a small hospital, they let Dean stay, for which he was grateful that he hadn't had to fight to do so. He was so weary and just wanted Sam to wake up and be okay.

By the time Dean followed the gurney into a private room, he had as much energy as a walking corpse. A chair against the wall beckoned him, but now that all the nurses were out of the way, he wanted a closer look at his brother for himself.

They'd cleaned him up some, stripped off the ruined clothes, put him in a faded blue hospital gown and had him hooked up to an IV, oximeter, heart monitor, the works.

Dark lashes fanned over too pale skin like bruises. Dean laid the back of his hand on Sam's forehead, lips tightening at the heat.

"His fever hasn't come down yet." The doctor's voice right behind him startled Dean.

The lines in Dr. Willet's forehead creased. "We've started him on the first course of antibiotics…" His words filtered off leaving an unspoken 'but' drifting in the air between them.

Dean's heart seized up like a broken engine. Turning, he faced the doctor head on as though challenging the bad news out of him would make it less painful.

The Adam's apple in Willet's throat column bounced. "We have some decisions to make."

"We?" Dean's voice came out gruff, a raw and bleeding match to his insides.

The doctor nodded. "Your brother—"

"Sam."

"Sam." Willet smiled kindly. "The infection in his leg has taken hold. Frankly, I'm not sure how he's lasted this long."

"But he has," Dean growled.

"Yes and we're doing everything we can to ensure he continues to."

The doctor stared pointedly at Dean with the unflinching resolve of someone accustomed to giving bad news straight out. "If we can't get a handle on the infection, we'll need to take his leg. But in Sam's weakened state, that still may not be enough."

The room closed in around Dean, squeezing the air from his lungs. A small burning pressure pushed at the base of his skull and he realized Dr. Willet was guiding him back to sit in the chair.

Dean sank onto it woodenly, starring at the floor as the color in the tiles faded while the doc kept a hand on his shoulder.

"So…" voice cracking, Dean stopped and tried again. "So, you leave his leg and Sam dies, but if you cut it off, he still might die? That what you're saying?" _Please don't be saying that_.

Features pinched, the doctor nodded. "I need you to be prepared. I have the surgery scheduled for the first thing in the morning."

"If…" Dean squeezed his eyes closed then opened them with a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe what he was about to ask. "If he's in danger of death, why not take him to surgery now?" The words tasted as bitter as ashes blown off a funeral pyre.

"We need his blood pressure evened out and more fluids in him. If we attempted surgery now, he wouldn't survive it." Willet's dark fingers curled over Dean's shoulder. "We still have a small window of time for that to happen and I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to give Sam the best chance he has."

Dean didn't nod, barely registered the doctor taking his leave. Dean sat unmoving in the chair, staring at the wall, numbed by the quiet beeps of the monitors and intermittent hum of the IV machine pushing antibiotics into his brother's veins. Earlier he wanted so badly for Sam to wake up, show him he was still fighting, but now he feared Sam waking because if he did, he'd have to tell him…

He couldn't. But he also couldn't stand the thought of Sam regaining consciousness after the surgery to find his leg gone either.

Wouldn't matter. Dean clenched his fists, shaking. He wouldn't let it matter. If it kept Sam alive, it wouldn't matter. They'd deal with it head on. Therapy. Artificial limb. Whatever Sam needed, Dean would deal with it. That's just how it was going to be. Screw everything else.

The IV drip continued on. Hours passed. Dean didn't move.

The door creaked open and a heavy-set black woman came through backwards, pulling a loaded cart with her.

She zeroed in on Dean. "Don't just sit there. Help me haul this cart in so we can get to saving your brother's leg."

That got Dean back on his feet, the colors of the room slamming back into full vibrancy.

The woman was already at the side of the bed, pushing down the sheets and gently pulling the saturated gauze away from Sam's thigh and peering at it intently. "Mmm-mmm, is as bad as they say."

Dean came alongside her, ready to insert himself between her wide girth and his brother, not daring to hope. "Who are you?"

Her gaze snapped on him, round face smoothing as she took in his ragged worried appearance. "Don't fret now, bébé. Nina Jae's here to take care of everything."

"But Dr. Willet—"

Her smile grew indulgent. "Who do you think suggested that maybe I come in for my shift two days early?" She patted his cheek before pulling the cart closer and lifted a white towel off a porcelain bowl filled with noxious brown mud.

Dean's brows knifed. "This is the same stuff that was on Sam when I found him."

"Was it now?" Nina Jae's lips puckered. "Jambyjamby."

"Come again."

"Jambyjamby. Found deep in the swamplands. It's probably what kept him alive so long." She went to the door and closed the shutters on the window and came back. "Someone—or something—helped your brother.

"I'll need you to hold him down when he awakens."

"He hasn't woken yet."

"He will." Nina Jae pressed the morphine drip button that shot an instant dose into the IV. "This will give him a few moments, but morphine acts quick, bébé, lasts only a few moments with so much pain."

Dean nodded, fear for his brother growing the more she spoke.

"This will be hard. I'll understand if you want to leave."

"I'm not leaving."

Nina Jae gave him another once other before moving him to the other side of the bed out of her way. "Be ready then." Going back to her place between the bed and the cart, she pulled plastic gloves on and used a scalpel to reopen the raw puckering wound on Sam's thigh.

The kid still didn't stir. Smelly pus immediately began seeping from the reopened wound.

"Such a small scratch to give us such problems." Setting the scalpel down, Nina Jae began systematically kneading the bloated flesh around the wound, pushing more of the thick pus out.

It looked painful as hell. Dean winced, relieved Sam remained unconscious until that reprieve was blown as Sam's eyes started rolling beneath his lids. His jaw clenched on a moan and his head rocked from one side to another.

Nina Jae glanced up at Dean. Get ready. She kept kneading the seeping wound, squeezing more and more of the sickly sweet smelling goo out. And Sam shot up off the mattress, back arching, his scream so raw and guttural it tore through every layer of Dean's soul.

He grabbed the kid's combative hands before he unconsciously struck Nina Jae in his fight or flight reaction. Fight since the Winchesters always came up swinging.

"Sam, stop. I gotcha!" Dean wrestled with his arms while Sam continued to scream and moan. "Won't this bring the other nurses running?"

"They know not to come in here when I've lowered the blinds." Steady as a rock, the woman continued to work. "Do not mention this to the doctor either."

"But I thought you said…"

"He knows about this, but must also work under medical restrictions. He doesn't ask, and I don't tell. You understand?"

"I got it." He did, but was more concerned with his thrashing, screaming brother at the moment. "Stop fighting, Sam, it's okay. She's helping you. She's helping you man."

Dean grabbed both of Sam's hands and held them between their bodies as he pulled Sam close against him. "It's okay, just like the time I got that rasta venom in me at Lake Chuckawak and you and Dad had to squeeze it out. Just like that, Sam. I know it hurts, but it's just like that, I promise."

Gradually Sam's struggles slowed. His hands unclenched and clenched against Dean's stomach before snagging into the hem of his T-shirt, his fingers burning hot against Dean's skin, and the top of Sam's head pressed hard into Dean's collarbone. Letting go of Sam's wrists, Dean brought his arms around the kid's overheated shaking frame.

"Keep…keep talking," Sam hitched out on a raspy sob.

Dean did. He talked and talked until he was hoarse, retelling old stories, sharing escapades with girls Sam didn't know about and some of the solo hunts he'd been on the past couple of years while Sam was at Stanford, not caring that Mammy Jae heard every word. He didn't let up even when Sam stiffened so tight Dean worried his bones would break, all the while Nina Jae kneaded his thigh working every ounce of the pus out without mercy until the blood finally ran clear and Sam's lean body sagged into Dean.

~~~SPN Forever~~~

These boys were getting to her. Nina Jae worked tirelessly, determined not to lose this one. She couldn't do any less, not with how the older brother worked to keep the kid grounded with him.

Their auras were strong, these two, and entwined in a manner she'd never encountered before.

If she had to work all night until her old joints stiffened, she was going to save these two. But finally the blood ran clear and it was up to the goddess whether this boy kept his limb or not.

While the older sibling carefully settled his unconscious brother on the mattress, she spread the Jambyjamby generously across his leg, pushing it down into the wound where it could do its work and draw the infection out. "Now we will see," she murmured, snapping the plastic gloves off. "Now we will see."

"This will work?" The open hope in the older boy's eyes broke her heart.

"If the goddess wills." From the tightening of his lips she could tell he was a nonbeliever. She smiled kindly. "He has a good chance. Let the Jambyjamby do its work until morning. Now you need to be off your feet. You'll be no good to him if you drop." She fisted her hands at her waist.

He had no intention of letting down his guard, but he also was too weary to fight her. Thinking he was compromising, he grabbed the hard chair from the wall and dragged it over.

"No bébé." She guided him to the recliner in the far corner of the room. "I want you rested."

"But…" He was afraid he'd fall asleep if he got too comfortable. She could see the thoughts working in his expressive face.

"I'll be here." She pushed him down into the chair. "If he needs you, I'll wake you."

Frowning, he eased back. "I'll sit, but I'm not sleeping."

Nodding, she crossed to the door. "I'll be back with fresh linens."

In the hall, the nurses manning the nurse's station glanced up expectantly. She gave them a tight smile and went into the supply closest, fishing out her phone. While it was true Dr. Willet had called her, he wasn't the only one.

A few minutes later, she returned to the room with the new linens and a cup of tea. Dean was still in the recliner and still awake, his expression as worried as when she'd left him.

"Here." She pushed the warm cup into his hands.

"I'm not thirsty."

"I did not ask. Drink. You need your strength if you're to watch after your brother all night."

With that he took a sip, and then another as she stood over him until he was finished.

"Bossy." She caught the murmured growl as he settled back into the recliner, mutinously folding his arms to wait out his brother's recovery.

~~~SN~~~

Thirty minutes passed before Nina Jae heard the door creak open. He swept into the room like a shadow, first glancing at the boy on the bed and then to the young man sleeping soundly in the recliner. Dark eyes lifted to her in question.

"He fought the effects of the tea, but he's out," she reassured him. "You have some fine boys, Johnny."

He strode over to the recliner and curled his large roughened hand around the boy's shoulder. "I do." His smile was small, almost too small for the weight of pride resting there. He squeezed his son's shoulder before turning away to check on his youngest.

Pulling back the sheet, John Winchester leaned in to inspect the wound first before his palm slid onto Sam's cheek while he slipped the back of his hand over the boy's forehead to gauge any remaining fever. "He's warm."

"Do not worry, his fever is going down."

John nodded, his eyes tight. "And his leg, did it work?"

She came up beside him, noting how John's hands remained on his son. "I believe his life is no longer in danger, but his leg…" She shook her head. "I do not know."

John flinched, barely perceptible, but his son must have felt it for his head turned into his father's palm and his lashes started fluttering.

"Shhh, son, it's all right." In all the years she had known the hunter, Nina Jae had never once heard the quality of gentleness in John's tone. She wouldn't have believed the man was capable of it.

Sam's eyes slipped open, a glossy hazel. "Dad?"

"It's okay, son. You're okay."

"Where…where you been?"

John smiled sadly. "Listen to me carefully, Sam. You're strong. You're going to keep fighting this. Do you understand me?"

Drowsy eyes struggled to remain open. "Keep fighting."

John patted Sam's cheek. "That's my boy. Now get some rest."

As though his father's words compelled him, the boy's eyes slipped closed again.

John watched him a few more moments before turning his full attention on Nina Jae, transitioning from a worried father to hardened hunter before her eyes.

"I'll clean out the beasts that got into the sewers, but your people have to do a better job of keeping the wards up around town. People died. My son was hurt."

"We've protected this town for decades and kept the tanahogs protected in the bayou as well," Nina Jae snapped. "I don't know how they got past the wards and into the city."

"Someone got compliance and let their wards age. Or stopped believing and didn't maintain them altogether. That can't happen again."

Shame for whoever of her people had grown lax burned in her gut. "It won't."

John turned away, stopping when she touched his elbow.

"The beasts, they are not evil, just beasts."

The hunter's lips tightened. Men like him only saw creatures that could kill. "A wolf is only a beast as well, but when a wolf discovers the sheep pen, the animal is killed."

She shied away from that logic. "It was one of these creatures that saved your boy. Do not be so quick to forget that, Johnny."

He held her gaze, considering, before nodding. "I'll take care of the beasts in the sewers. Replace the wards. The rest of the tanahogs are your responsibility. Keep the wards vital. Are we clear?"

She nodded.

And John's features softened, weary. "Thank you for what you've done for my son. It won't be forgotten." With one last glance toward the bed, John Winchester slipped out as quietly as he came in.

~~~SPN~~~

Dean awoke with a crick in his neck as he took in the unfamiliar pastel green wall he faced. Hospital pastel. He jerked up in the recliner, remembering where he was and more importantly why.

"Sam?"

He scrambled out of the chair, unnerved that he'd fallen asleep, and went to his brother's side. No one else was about. The room smelled different of hospital disinfectant and shampoo odors instead of the overwhelming scent of sickness and that brownish muck. Sam was clean, his hair damp, his skin less gray. The bedding was fresh. He pulled back the sheet to check Sam's leg. The brown gunk had been washed away, no trace of it left. Dean gently peeled back the gauze to check the wound. It was still ugly, but no longer swollen or seeping yellow pus.

Next he rested his palm along Sam's cheek while checking for fever with the back of his other hand on his forehead. Kid still felt a little warm, but nowhere close to putting out the heat waves he had been before. He spilled out a breath in relief. "You're doing better, Sam. Keep fighting, buddy."

Sam's eyes fluttered. His face turned into Dean's palm and his lashes lifted, revealing those shiny hazels. "Dad?"

Dean chuckled, near giddy at hearing Sam's voice. "Try again, kiddo."

"De'n." Sam's lips curved into a smile. "Where you been? I lost you."

"Been right here the whole time. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Wha' happened? Where's Dad?"

Dean frowned. His brother was still out of it, not remembering things right. "Are you in pain?"

Sam's forehead scrunched as though he had to take inventory. "Leg hurts."

Worry notched up a rung around Dean's spine. Pain was good, right? Feeling something? "How bad?" He reached for the morphine button.

Sam's fingers fluttered on his mattress. "S'okay. Not bad. Tight. Where'd Dad go?"

"Sam, Dad's not…"

"Was here. Told me…keep fighting."

Well, Dean wasn't going to argue with that. If Sam dreamed of their dad telling him to keep fighting, he wasn't going to take that away. But he did have something else to warn his brother about. His leg, the scheduled surgery, if everything Nina Jae had done last night didn't work… "Look, Sam, I, uh, need to—"

The door swung open and Dean's nightmare walked in dressed in surgical scrubs and cap. "Morning, gentlemen, I see you're up. You're both up." Dean tried to gauge by Dr. Willet's expression where they stood.

"Listen, Doc." He blocked his way to Sam. "Before you take him, I'm requesting that you run a few blood tests first. He's looks better. Things could have changed…"

Dr. Willet squeezed Dean's bicep. "Actually, we already have, early this morning. I tried to wake you, but you were completely under. I…" He glanced down at his scrubs, realizing what Dean must be assuming. "I just came from an emergency Endoscopy. Little girl swallowed a nickel that got stuck in her esophagus." He shook his head. "What I'm telling you is that I already postponed your brother's surgery and as long as he keeps improving we won't need to reschedule in the foreseeable future."

Every emotion Dean had been harboring over the last couple of days crashed through him, turning his limbs to butter. He sank down to steady himself on the edge of Sam's mattress, hoping his rubbery legs would hold him.

Sam's wide-eyed gaze fixed on him. "Surgery?"

Dean shrugged. "Cosmetic. Figured while you were out of it, we could do something about that ugly mug."

The hazel eyes rolled, unimpressed. "You're such an ass."

"And you're a bitch. What of it?"

Sam yawned and sank farther down into his pillow, his eyes closing. "You were worried."

Dean grinned. "Shut up, Sam."

"And we _are_ going to talk about this." He yawned again. "You can hold my hand if it will make you feel better."

Willet shook his head, grinning and Dean laughed. "Shut up already."

"Such a girl," Sam murmured, getting in the last jibe before going under again. And yeah, Dean admitted to himself, when it came to this kid, he was as sappy as it came.

~~~SPN~~~

A week later, Dean crouched down in the center of the tanahog's refuse lair beside the charred remains of at least four of the large beasts. They'd been burned down to their bones.

"Is she?" Sam waited at the entrance because even though his leg was healing nicely and the kid wasn't even limping, Dean still didn't want him having to shuffle his way through the debris field of discarded belongings...and, uh, other crap. Hell, he didn't want Sam down in the sewers again at all, but Sam was adamant about coming and watching Dean's back. They'd come loaded for bear, er, tanahog, but hadn't expected that another hunter had come along and taken care of the nest sometime during Sam's recuperation, though they should have since there hadn't been any more news of missing people or pets.

"It's hard to tell, but all these bones look larger than the female's. I don't think she's here."

Sam nodded. "It was Dad. I told you he was here."

Dean's head snapped up. "Then why wouldn't he let us know he was around? No way Sam, I gotta believe if Dad was here, he would have let us know."

"Who knows why Dad does anything?" Pained acceptance filtered Sam's tone. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's just coincidence that another hunter got wind of a hunt down here."

Dean could tell his brother didn't really believe that and was just saying what he thought he wanted to hear, because damn it, Dean wasn't about to believe that their father would come check on Sam and not stick around when he knew they'd been looking for him for months.

His good mood at discovering this stupid job was completed soured and he was ready to get out of here, get Sammy out of here and back on the road. "Well, whatever man, let's go." Swinging to his feet, he hitched the duffel on his shoulder and strode out of the lair, passing his brother only to stop when he realized Sam hadn't moved to follow him out. He turned. "Sam. She's really not there. I promise. I think your tanahog nanny made it out."

"Yeah, okay." Turning away from the foul lair, Sam lifted sad dewy eyes to Dean. "Just wish we could know for sure."

Dean walked back to Sam, taking his elbow to prod him into leaving. "Well, brother, some things you just have to take on faith." He grinned like a cat with a mouth full of feathers.

Not taking the bait, Sam continued to frown but walked steadily on at Dean's urging.

Dean was just happy to be leaving. Once outside, he filled his lungs with the fresh, albeit muggy air, rolling his shoulders before making the small hike out of the edge of the bayou when he had the distinct feeling of being watched and noticed that Sam had stilled too.

Following Sam's gaze, he saw a flash of light where a small piece of metal hung from the branch of a cypress tree and just beyond that in the shadows the female tanahog watched them. They stared at each other for a long while until Sam took a step toward her and the tanahog flinched and then quietly edged back into the swampland out of sight.

**FIN**


End file.
